A/N: Double chapter today, because today was productive and I'm riding this positivity wave until it dies.
Harry had thought that Uncle Vernon would be furious about him and Dudley sneaking out in the middle of the night and ending up in London.
He was partially right. Uncle Vernon hadn't been furious, he'd been apoplectic.
Harry explained to the Queen, in as steady a tone as he could muster, that he and Dudley lived in Surrey, not London, and that his uncle would likely be extremely angry with the two of them for hitchhiking an hour away from their home. She had merely smiled, ushered him and Dudley out of the door, and told them not to worry about it.
So it was that Harry found himself knocking on the door to Number Four, his eyes wide and his posture tense. He could tell that Aaron was giving him a curious look, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the flashes of sunlight that flared off the canary-shaped knocker.
A tumble echoed inside the house, followed by a muffled, deep-set curse. The doo swung open, revealing the rapidly purpling face of Uncle Vernon. Harry glimpsed Aunt Petunia's abnormally pale skin sticking out from one of the corners, where the fumbling clatter of pots and pans rang.
"Dudley!" Uncle Vernon's gasp was half-sob, half-shout, and he practically shoved Harry out of the way to get to his son. Harry smacked against the side of the house, an echoing bruise shrieking between his shoulder blades. The light within him, brimming with magical potential, nearly coiled and rose from underneath his skin, but he tamped it down with a snarl of effort.
"Is that Duddydums?" Aunt Petunia sounded much more relieved, and she rushed out from the kitchen. Pangs of jealousy swept up from Harry's stomach as she embraced Dudley and Uncle Vernon. If the sympathetic grimace on Aaron's face was any indication, he knew exactly how Harry was feeling. At least, he knew about the mildly distasteful part that marveled at the sheer size discrepancy between the three of them.
Uncle Vernon opened his watery eyes for the first time since embracing Dudley and saw Harry. A deep breath, almost unconscious, passed through Harry's lungs even as Uncle Vernon purpled again. This time, his skin went straight to a peculiar blue shade that seemed almost unhealthy. He squeezed Dudley once, let go, and gently herded him to the side.
"I have you to blame for this, boy," Uncle Vernon growled. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Aaron's eyes widen. The man moved to interfere, but Harry stopped him with a surreptitious glance and shake of the head. Uncle Vernon had seen it, however, and pulled him forward by the neck of his shirt. "I tell you to get out of this house, and what do I get in return? You end up kidnapping my boy and leaving him missing for most of the night. I've called the police, I've filed a missing persons report!"
"Dad—"
Dudley fell silent as Uncle Vernon swiped a hand in the air. "Don't you worry, Dudley, this will all be sorted out soon enough. As for you. You'll be lucky if we don't feed you for a week with the stunt you've pulled! I've half a mind to get my belt right now, and to hell with what the neighbors think!"
Aunt Petunia gasped, but Harry stayed silent. The fear had subsided long ago, replaced by something not quite angry. Uncle Vernon scared him, true… but Uncle Vernon was al afraid of his freakishness. And if Uncle Vernon was afraid of magic, then he had a way to fight back.
Harry was about to raise a hand, the light churning in a vast sea within him, but Aaron finally moved. He placed a hand on his side, the other in his pocket, and turned the corner. "I would be very careful with your next words, Vernon Dursley."
"And who the ruddy hell are you?" Uncle Vernon snapped. In a move so fluid it must have been practiced, Aaron slipped a leather wallet from his coat pocket and held it out. An official-looking ID card fell into his hands.
"Aaron Maccoby, Queen's Guard," he introduced with a disarmingly cheery smile.
Harry thought he'd never enjoyed anything so much as the way Uncle Vernon's face drained of color. The way his eyebrows knit together in apparent horror was more than slightly amusing as well.
"Ah—sir, I didn't mean to cause you any trouble," Uncle Vernon stammered. Beside him, Aunt Petunia shivered. Strangely, she'd seemed to absorb nearly all of her husband's lost color. Her cheeks and ears nearly purple, she tried and failed to pull Vernon back inside. "I don't know what insidious lies the boy's been telling you, but please take it with a grain of salt. He's unwell, you see, not quite right in the head. Has delusions of being magical."
"Aside from the fact that I had a child myself at Harry's age, I know what delusions look like, Mr. Dursley," Aaron assured with a grim smirk. "It's normal for children to go around pretending to be magical at the age of eight. Delusional? Pah."
He turned around and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. He jumped, so startled he briefly lost control of the shivering sea of light. Thankfully, it didn't manifest beside the crack of glass, though he thought he saw the beginnings of a spiderweb spread across the Dursley's kitchen tearoom window. "Besides, I don't think the Queen would conscript any delusional person to the Kingsglaive, especially not one as competent as Harry here." Aaron moved to approach the supposedly "surreptitious" black BMW parked at the curb. "Your Majesty, we're almost done here! You can tell Alonso to start the car!"
Not ten seconds later, the BMW roared to life. Harry stared as people began to look out their windows, glaring repugnantly at the car.
Then the Queen stepped out, and he'd never seen someone's expression change so fast.
The shrewd young lady holed up in Number Two had done a double-take, first out of surprise and then excitement. The expression seemed to spread around the block until there were dozens of people watching eagerly from the doorframes of their houses. The Queen approached carefully, poised and stately even in a standard suburb.
"Vernon and Petunia Dursley," she said calmly. "Would you mind if I came in for tea?"
They gaped like a pair of fish. Harry exchanged a glance with Dudley and, without meaning to, clamped down on a snicker even as his cousin did the same. Dudley swept forward, blond hair bobbing in the light. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said. Not even Harry could mistake the false pomp in his voice. "I'll put some water on the kettle right now."
"Thank you, Mr. Dursley." The Queen stepped past the elder Dursleys' inert bodies. Harry spared them a glance as he walked past.
"Is it bad to enjoy something like this so much?" he whispered to Aaron. The man grinned.
"Not if they were about to do what I think they were, it's not." Harry snorted, though Aaron remained oddly silent. "Harry, do they hurt you?"
Harry's shoulders went up in an imitation of a shrug. "Not with their fists. People would ask questions if I suddenly started showing up with bruises on my face. Even Dudley only hits my chest. Besides," he added quickly, seeing Aaron's disgruntled glare, "I don't think Uncle Vernon would ever actually hit me. Sometimes he locks me in my cupboard, and they yell at me a lot, but I've never been hit."
"By anyone other than your cousin," Aaron grunted.
"Yeah, but Dudley's always been like that," Harry explained. For some reason, the kitchen and dining area seemed more open than it had the last time he'd been there. Perhaps it was the natural light streaming through the windows—Aunt Petunia hated leaving the drapes open, so the lightbulb was the only source of luminance most of the time—or maybe it was the fact that neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon were bustling around, shuffling through cupboards for a snack or something for him to clean.
"Doesn't make it right, Harry," Aaron said simply. Harry shrugged and looked at Dudley, who was shamelessly listening in on their conversation. He offered a weak smile that Harry batted away with a huff and a small glare. The sheer audacity would likely have gotten him a punch to the gut the night before, but Dudley only scowled at Harry and turned back to the kettle.
After a while, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia finally unfroze. They still didn't enter the kitchen, blooming a sigh of relief in Harry. Whispered voices, just distorted enough to be indecipherable, echoed in the hallway, right across from his cupboard.
The moment the kettle whistled, he was on his feet in a flash. It took a few moments before he realized Dudley was already pouring water into the teapot, a slightly guilty look on his face. Doing his best to ignore the burning in his face and the inquisitive glances of the Queen and Aaron, he slowly lowered himself to the chair."
"Your Majesty," Uncle Vernon eventually spluttered, his face half-hidden by the mop of unbrushed hair on his head. "I was wonder what had happened to make someone such as yourself join us for morning tea."
The Queen, ever stoic, cracked a small smile. It wasn't one of the usual smiles she reserved for himself or Dudley, Harry noted, but rather a just-insidious grin. "I was actually discussing my future plans for a meeting with Ms. Thatcher," she explained. "Mr. Potter mentioned that it would be prudent for him to collect his things and drop off Mr. Dursley before driving to Downing Street."
Uncle Vernon paled even further. He shot a furious glance at Harry before continuing, his voice still sugar-sweet. "Your Majesty, I'm sure I didn't hear you mention Harry in those plans. He's just a boy, after all. A bit… abnormal, as well. He's not right in the head, you see; dropped on his head as a child." Uncle Vernon leaned in closer. "He seems to have these delusions that he's a wizard, Your Majesty."
"I've said it before, Dursley," Aaron grumbled. "Eight-year-olds don't get delusions, they get daydreams. Harry's as sane as you or I, though with how this conversation is going I'm starting to worried you're not entirely there."
"Besides, there is nothing delusional about Harry being magical," the Queen said cheerfully. "We thought you should know, as he is your nephew, but Harry does have magic. Mr. Potter, if you would?" Harry obligingly allowed the light to flow, becoming a sliver of rotating crystal above his palm. Uncle Vernon nearly jumped from his seat, bringing another small grin to Harry's face. "He's been proud to join the newest royal guard regiment, the Kingsglaive. As of now, we're going to be assigning him a room in Buckingham Palace, along with the rest of the Kingsglaive."
Harry couldn't help it. He laughed, amusement bubbling up from his stomach and out his mouth. It came out as a half-hiss from how tightly his jaw was set. Behind him, Harry could hear the slight thud of Dudley jumping in his spot as well, though a snort also burst from his lips. Even Aaron cracked a small smile when he looked up, though it was tinged with the same stoicism that pervaded his entire being.
"Are you quite done, Mr. Potter?" Contrary to her admonishing words, the Queen's tone brought on another wave of giggly laughter, though Harry kept it in his head this time. He nodded and turned to the teacup that had just been placed in front of him.
"Yes, Your Majesty," he said solemnly. The effect was ruined by the earsplitting grin that stretched across his cheeks.
"Po—Harry, may I speak with you for a moment?" Uncle Vernon's voice couldn't have sounded more forced, and to Harry's childish wiles it was delightful. Still, speaking to Uncle Vernon alone had never yielded good results. Even as he nodded, he made a motion to Aaron behind his back.
Uncle Vernon stepped out into the hallway, Harry only a half-step behind him. Before they could even get to the end of the hall, Uncle Vernon whirled, his face a sallow shade that wouldn't have looked out of place on a corpse. "What have you done?" he whispered hoarsely.
"I don't know what you mean, Uncle Vernon," Harry demurred softly. The telltale creak of wood on a plank Harry had gotten used to avoiding signaled the presence of Aaron, only a few steps away and ready to intervene if necessary.
"I think you do," Uncle Vernon growled. "I think you know ruddy well what I mean. I don't know how you managed to beguile the blasted Queen with your freakishness, but when I get this sorted out you can be damn sure you won't be able to speak for a week!"
"But didn't you hear, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked innocently. A small part of him wondered if he might be enjoying this too much, but it was overruled by the unadulterated glee coursing through his veins. Even the light within seemed to revel in his uncle's rapidly purpling expression. "I won't be here any longer. You won't have to worry about my freakishness any more."
Uncle Vernon snarled quietly. "And you decided to bewitch Her Majesty to get away. I won't let this happen, boy, I won't. I am not a bad man, but I will do what must be done." Harry stared, amusement bleeding away into confusion. Uncle Vernon was, indisputably, a bad man.
Harry was about to open his mouth again—to tease his uncle more or ask what he'd meant, he wasn't sure—when Uncle Vernon lunged. He ended up yelling, a cry tearing from his lips even as his light surged, magic and reality becoming one in a single instant. A shimmering barrier, seemingly made of the same crystal he liked to form, spread in hexagonal flakes from Uncle Vernon's point of impact.
Uncle Vernon bounced off the shield, but before he could regain his footing another figure tackled him to the floor. Aaron reached back, one hand clamped over Uncle Vernon's meaty neck and the other ripping his gun free.
"Your Majesty, get back to the car!" he thundered. The gun was shoved into Uncle Vernon's gut. Harry allowed the barrier to dissipate, revealing a crystal-clear depiction of the scene. The Queen had gotten to her feet and was halfway across the kitchen when Aunt Petunia shrieked and dropped her tea. Harry stood back, ready to go invisible if need be. It wouldn't stop Uncle Vernon from touching him, but he could get away much more easily.
For his part, Dudley just sipped his tea, watching the ensuing drama raptly.
"Get your hands off my husband, you brute!" Aunt Petunia squawked.
Harry stepped back, careful to keep his back to the wall. He caught the Queen giving him an arched eyebrow. "Your Majesty," he said as calmly as he dared. "Please go back to the car."
"If you insist, Mr. Potter," she said, though she couldn't hide a glint of concern in her eyes. Harry just shooed her away and focused on slowing his breathing. The tears that were coming to his eyes were entirely unintentional, but he focused on how they tracked down his cheeks, drawing wet gouges into his skin. While Aaron spouted off a series of words he was sure would be important later, he focused on the moisture on his skin.
The light reached out, trying futilely to comfort him. He harnessed it instead, feeding the sudden spikes of adrenaline and terror and tears into his magic, allowing it to ingrain and burn away his tears.
A gentle chill danced along his hands, and he opened his eyes. Held within was a miasmic violet cloud, thick and heavy with chilling rain and wind. He was almost tempted to launch it at Uncle Vernon, but at the last moment decided better of it. It dissipated, unneeded.
"Mr. Potter," Aaron said sharply. He glanced up from his hand. Fire had sprouted in his center once again, fueling the light, scalding away his fear. "Gather your things and return to the car. I will guard you until you are ready to proceed."
Harry nodded once and turned to his cupboard. The worn brass knob opened obligingly under his touch. He expertly maneuvered around the boxes scattered over the floor, gathered what little he owned—a blanket, a glass marble he'd stolen from Dudley when they were both little, and a little plastic bottle filled with stamps he'd shaved off of the Dursleys' mail.
HE was almost out of the door when a thought struck him. "Oh!" he exclaimed. All it took to empty the bottle was a flick of the wrist. With gentle fingers, he reached out under his bed and scooped up the majority of Robin's webs. "You're coming with me, girl. We're going to make you a proper house."
Robin scuttled around in his hand, only stopping once she was safely in the bottle. Eight beady black eyes stared balefully up at him. "Sorry, sorry! I promise I'll get you something to eat later. I'm sure there are a few flies somewhere around the Palace."
He scampered out of the room, watching Uncle Vernon carefully. The man's mustache appeared to be fraying in tufts. Aaron stared coolly at them, only sparing a glance at Harry before retreating.
"That was your bedroom." It wasn't a question. Harry nodded mutely, allowing a fragment of light to course through his system and warm him up again. "Harry, that was your bedroom."
"Yes," Harry said dryly, "I'm well aware. What about it?"
"What parents give a child a bedroom that doubles as a cupboard?"
Harry laughed. A genuine chuckle, too, not a bitter one. "There's no way I would ever be considered normal by the Dursleys. Ever since I first did magic—I think the first time I did it was when I was six, but it might have been earlier—they've been giving me more and more work to keep me busy. Dudley hits me, but it's been getting better, since my bruises heal faster than most people's. Besides, I fit in there, and the second bedroom is filled with all of Dudley's old toys."
"But it's a cupboard," Aaron argued. Harry sighed and made to retort, but the Queen shot him a warning look. His mouth clicked shut, and with a groan of leather and a shiver of his fingertips, he settled into the backseat of the Queen's BMW.
The next hour was spent in complete silence. Harry lost interest in staring at the fading skyline of Surrey after only five minutes. Instead, he turned his attention inward, back to the shimmering haze of light. A flash of familiar fury, a trace of emotion he'd thought he'd shoved down, speared through his light. It coalesced in his hand as the same virulent cloud he'd created earlier. It strained against his control, almost venomous, but he clamped it down.
Eventually, it siphoned away into nothingness, but not before he managed to get a better look at its effects. Unlike the magic he'd performed before, his cloud froze and dug into his skin. Where the invisibility disoriented him and the teleporting fork set some sort of weariness deep in his muscles, this chill actually hurt. What was worse was the poison-green veins stretching out from his free hand, pulsing and throbbing in a horrific staccato. The effect faded away only a few moments after the cloud disappeared, but he couldn't shake the absent sensation of numbness that coiled up his arm briefly.
The car slowed to a stop, and Harry glanced up. "Are we there already?" he asked Aaron. The man nodded, staring neutrally at the door to 10 Downing Street.
"Aaron, you know the procedure, but I believe Mr. Potter shod know what he should be doing when we meet with the Prime Minister." Elizabeth had already assumed her flat-faced façade, eyes set forward and hands clasped tightly over her bag. Her navy coat seemed almost black in the shade provided by a line of trees. "I want this to go smoothly."
"Ah, before you go," a new voice said. Alonso stepped out of the car to open Elizabeth's door. His curly black hair was starting to gray, and though he was particularly small the lines on his face suggested anything but youth. He peered down his glasses at Harry. "I'm going to get you cleaned up a bit, young man. There is a small store down the street; nothing designer, Your Majesty, but enough that he won't look like a slob."
"I look fine!" Harry protested even as he stared down at his clothes. Dudley's shirt had several new rips in it, and one leg of his jeans was entirely shredded after a long-range teleport and skidding across the street.
"You look like a vagabond," Alonso muttered. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and shuffled him down the street.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry was dressed in a fresh pair of pants and a white shirt. He shook his wrists out irritably, picking at the crimson sleeves of his jacket. "Did you have to pick something red?" he asked irritably. "And take so long too? We could have grabbed the first shirt and a pair of jeans."
"And have you look like a homeless delinquent?" Alonso scoffed. "No, you are going to meet with the Prime Minister with some semblance of style. Reflecting the autumn is better than that ratty green tee you had anyway."
He wasn't wrong, Harry mused. The varying oranges and reds decorating his windbreaker wouldn't have looked out of place on a tree. Still, he'd liked the chill of the wind battering against his open arms.
"Ah, take these as well," Alonso said. He pulled out a thin pair of glasses, set into rectangular frames and missing the lower wire. "I don't know your prescription, but they're an old pair of mine. Certainly can't be any worse than the ones you have, considering how much you bumbled about in that store."
Harry scowled at the man, but he pulled off his taped-over glasses and slid the new ones on. The world sharpened, but not by much. Anything beyond the end of the street was still a blurry mass, but at least he could see the Queen's car somewhat clearly from their spot across the street. "Thank you, Alonso," he said grudgingly.
"You sound like you're having a hernia. Now go find Mr. Maccoby and get briefed," Alonso ordered. "I shall wait in the car until Her Majesty is finished."
Aaron stared at him as he approached, an eyebrow raised. "Alonso made you look like a living target," he groaned. Harry smirked and sent a venomous glance back at the driver, who simply folded his arms. "Never mind that, though. The more attention you draw to yourself, the less you draw to the Queen. Any possible threats will do a double-take when they see an eight-year-old dressed like a clown in the room."
Harry's eyebrows knit together. The spark of concern in his gut intensified significantly. "There's not going to be any need for that, right?" he asked weakly.
The stare that Aaron gave him was impassive. "The Guard dedicates their lives to protecting Her Majesty, whether from trivial threats or dangerous ones. You have to be willing to take a bullet at any time to get her to safety. As she is not the bearer of the Ring of the Lucii, that goes for the Kingsglaive as well. Be prepared to die, Harry, or don't bother showing up at all."
Harry gulped, but the defiance was already burning a path in his system. "Then I'll do it," he declared. "Just watch me."
Aaron nodded, the slightest hint of approval in his eyes. "We'll make a proper man out of you yet," he noted. "Now, as for the meeting with the Prime Minister. It's very likely that there might be a member of the supposed magical government in attendance, so we're going to be on guard from the moment we enter. Nobody knows just what they'll do."
Harry nodded and fingered the marble in his pocket. Robin had been left in the car; he wasn't willing to risk her getting stepped on, not so soon after leaving the Dursleys. Its cool, smooth surface brought back thoughts of the Ring. "Do you have anything that can be used to teleport? From your story, you can bring others with you. You might need to escape with the Queen if things get dicey."
"I understand, Aaron," Harry said shortly. He did have the marble, but the coins Alonso had him holding would be more innocuous.
"You're to call me 'sir' at all times when on a mission, Mr. Potter," Aaron ordered.
"Yes sir," Harry repeated. Aaron narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment. He simply gestured for Harry to go first, behind the Queen, as they walked into 10 Downing Street.
A/N: There we go. Tomorrow I should be continuing with a post a day, as per usual. In the meantime, I have a ! Check it out if you want more writing like this, or if you want to suggest something that you think I should write! Just search my name at the home page, and you'll be home free.